


Going for It

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bottom Steve McGarrett, Danny and Steve Get Together, Dom Danny "Danno" Williams, Face Slapping, Glam Rock (sort of), Graphic Depictions of Tight Clothing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rockstar!Steve, Sub Steve McGarrett, rockstar - Freeform, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Steve is secretly a big deal rockstar in underground music scene. Danny and the team stumble upon him during a performance, and Things Happen.If you like graphic descriptions of sexy clothing, sensory porn with feelings, and McDanno, then this fic is for you.Enjoy!





	1. Rockstar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration/Soundtrack to this work: "Divided" by Eat Your Heart Out.

Steve’s fingers are encased in supple leather gloves; black polished fingertips peek out, spread wide across the fret board of his guitar. His eyes are hooded, outlined in purple glitter and the blackest kohl. He blinks, and his eyelashes are teased out long enough to touch against his cheekbones. He is center stage, mic set up in front of him, all that’s there between him and the writhing crowd. He stands, legs spread wide, encased in skintight denim and lace up leather boots. There are tears across his thighs where his skin peaks out, thick musculature straining against the rough fabric. Above a studded black belt, impossibly thick, he wears only a faded white v-neck, cut low to show off his chest. He’s sweating; and there’s a thin cord around his neck from which dangles some sort of silver pendant—a trident, maybe. Danny can’t tell from where he’s standing, but then again, Danny can’t say much about anything right now—he’s too busy being shell-shocked to speak. He feels Chin lean over, knows the man is saying something into his ear, but Danny doesn’t hear a single syllable.

The beat of the drums is deafening; the bass line cuts in and Steve turns around, kicks something on the floor of the stage, and suddenly, his guitar roars to life. Steve’s fingers fly across the wooden board, picking out a bluesy, deeply melodic rhythm that soars above the heaviness of the bass and drums. Whatever this song is; it’s beautiful. Danny thinks it must be an original. On his right, he can feel Chin and Kono moving; Lou lays a hand on his shoulder as he passes. But Danny can’t help them right now. He’s too mesmerized, too surprised, too aroused. _Steve_ is a rockstar. _Steve._ His Steve. Is a freaking rockstar. Looking up, Danny watches Steve as he leans into the mic and all but growls out the first line. The sound goes straight to Danny’s dick. He can’t watch this. He _can’t_ …Can he? It doesn’t really matter, anyway. It’s a moot point. He is physically unable to move, completely rooted to the spot and in awe as Steve gyrates and growls and generally looks like an offering to the sex gods of rock n’ roll. His voice is pure desire; it’s actually unbelievable. Steve is _good._ Incredibly good. But Danny is still sort of stuck on how hot he sounds with his deep, gravelly rock voice and bedroom eyes and tight pants…Oh God, Danny has to get out of here. Steve will be _furious_ if he finds out that the team ran into him here. This was supposed to be one of Steve’s rare nights off. Not even on call to the governor. Very unlike Steve, but now of course it all makes sense.

The lighting has changed, and Steve is bathed in a soft, blueish-purple glow as he slings his guitar over his back and puts both hands on the mic. He looks so earnest, so raw, that Danny takes an involuntary step forward before he realizes that he can’t just go to Steve right the fuck now. Time seems to slow down as Steve starts to sing the bridge. It’s rough, and it’s gentle, and it’s perfectly Steve, the words ground out like gravel beneath the stupid combat boots he always wears. And suddenly, Danny can’t speak. This is too intimate, too much. Whoever Steve is singing about…Danny realizes that this is what Steve looks like, sounds like, _is_ like when he’s _in_ _love_. The words of the song and the stripped back melody are crushing; it almost breaks Danny’s heart to stand still and listen to Steve confess his soul in front of everyone. He remembers what Steve once told him about being afraid to be vulnerable in a room full of strangers…a tear slips down Danny’s cheek, he’s _that_ proud. But also, he can’t help wondering who this person is, this person that Steve is singing about who makes him better and stronger and pulls him out of his self-erected shell. And he can admit it; he’s a little jealous. It’s hard to believe that someone can love this man better than he can; but apparently someone does.

Steve swings the guitar back around and steps back, his heavy black leather boots depressing something on the ground; the guitar wails as Steve launches into a haunting solo that tears at the heartstrings of everyone in the room. Danny wonders if Steve wrote this. Something about the tone suggests to Danny that he did; it’s overwrought with emotion, truths spilling out at the seams, just like Steve. Danny wonders if Steve realizes how much he’s emoting right now, in front of all these people, laying bare everything about him. It’s why people are here, he’s sure. There’s something beautiful about a musician who can give that much to the crowd; who can drop his guard and share that much of his soul. Beautiful, and rare. If only these people know just how rare this kind of vulnerability was to Steve. What it must be costing him.

But Steve looks…not happy, exactly, because he’s clearly hurting over this person in the song, but he does look lighter somehow. _Free._ That’s the word. Steve looks free. Unencumbered. Like he’s dropped his shields and the effort of holding them up, now that it’s gone, is a huge relief. The song is coming to a close, Danny realizes. The last notes of the guitar linger in the air as the bass line drops out and the drummer hits the snare a few times for the big finish. Steve swipes a hand across his face, smearing makeup and glitter across his cheekbones and over his chin. He looks bedraggled, but sated, like this experience has healed something in him. He turns around and leans over, giving the crowd a full view of his ass in those jeans, and a few people holler as he flips the guitar strap up over his head and sets the instrument down in its cradle by the drum kit. Returning to center stage, he smiles shyly before speaking into the mic.

“Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone. We really appreciate it.” At this, he steps back a bit and gestures to his band. The crowd claps and whoops; Danny thinks they really are incredibly talented. Then his attention is abruptly recaptured as Steve continues speaking in that slow, soft, song-roughened voice.

“That one was hard for me.” He steps back again, laughs awkwardly, and runs a hand through his sweaty, messy hair. He shakes his head. “Really hard. There’s this person…a guy, actually,” he says, and the audience whoops again. A girl next to Danny turns to her friend and says, “That’s so hot,” in a stunned voice. Danny has to agree, though his head is spinning. Steve? A guy? What the fuck…?

“Anyway,” Steve continues, “I love him, obviously.” The crowd awwww’s and Steve smiles shyly again. “Um, thanks,” he says, and Danny’s heart _melts._ He’s pretty sure everyone else’s does, too. Steve is quite good at this. Danny still isn’t completely sure it isn’t an act for his onstage persona, though. Steve can’t _really_ be doing this _as himself_ , can he? But the confessional continues, and suddenly, Danny can’t breathe.

“His name is Danny,” Steve says, and all the air whooshes out of the room. Danny feels like he’s choking, drowning, dying a thousand awful deaths at once.

Steve keeps talking, but Danny can’t hear him anymore, can’t process anything. He gets snippets— _six years_ , _best friend, more than anything—_ but he can’t make sense of them. Suddenly, an odd expression comes across Steve’s face. Almost pained. Danny follows his eye line, coming to rest directly on…Chin. Oh. Not good. Steve looks like he might be sick. His bassist comes up behind him and puts a hand on his back. Their mics pick up the whispered, “You okay, man?” Steve nods, then nods again. “Chin.” He says, and it’s a statement, not a question. Chin looks up at the stage from where he’s got a pierced guy with tattoos across his neck pinned with one hand. “Hey man,” Chin says, then gestures diffidently with his free hand. “It’s cool.” And Steve relaxes, visibly. Kono pops up from somewhere behind Chin and smiles, “We knew, Boss. We’re still hoping you get him.” She gives Steve the hang loose surfer sign and Steve gives it back to her, his smile returning. Kono makes another gesture, as if to say, _we’re leaving with the perps, enjoy,_ and she and Chin slowly move toward the exit with their quarries in tow. Steve watches the doors shut behind them. Slowly, he turns back to the crowd. “Someday,” Steve says, “maybe I’ll play this for him.” The crowd shouts encouragements as Steve turns around to prepare for the next song in the set. But one loud voice jars him, and he whips around, trained eyes scanning the crowd for the speaker.

_"You already did..."_

Lou pokes his hand up; he’s tall, and very dark-skinned, which makes him fairly easy to spot in a crowd of mostly Asians and native Hawaiians. “Me, man,” he grins, but Steve just continues to gape at him. Danny sees Steve quickly doing the math—if Lou is here, than that means the _whole_ team is, and that Kono and Chin weren’t just tag teaming it on a slow night. Lou nods his head, repeats himself. “You already did.” When Steve looks confused, he clarifies with three simple words, “He’s here, man.” The blood drains out of Steve’s face. Suddenly then there’s a spotlight trained on Danny, illuminating his hiding spot against the back wall, and there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to. _Dammit._ He hates this kind of attention. Also, he knows he’s just standing there like a deer caught in the headlights, and these people are going to think he’s an idiot, or worse, the jerk who broke their favorite bandleader’s heart. _Shit_. He has to get out of here. Instead, though, there are words bubbling up and coming out of his mouth that he hadn’t meant to say. “Finish your set, man,” the stranger with his voice says. “We’ll talk after the show.” He feels himself smile at Steve, the familiar muscles in his jaw moving into place to form that gentle smile he always gives to his partner, no matter the circumstances. And these are some pretty crazy circumstances. But Steve nods and turns to mouth something to the drummer, and it looks like they’re going to be continuing.

Steve steps up to the mic, the drummer counts it out, cracking his sticks in the air, and Steve leans in. The song explodes into the room like a massive stampede of animals; it’s that loud, and there’s such unbelievable energy behind it. Even though Steve is clearly a bit dazed, he’s bringing it. He’s hopping up and down, head-banging a little, throwing his fist in the air after every down stroke on his guitar. The bassist steps up and crowds in with Steve at the mic for the harmony. Steve raises his leg and puts a boot on the speaker in front of him, leaning into it as the chorus hits. And Danny is transported. This can’t be real, this can’t be him, can’t be _Steve_ and him. But it is. And after the show, Danny goes in search of Steve backstage, as promised. But he doesn’t want to talk. Not after all of this. For once in his life, Danny doesn’t have a single thing to say. He makes his way to the dressing room with Steve’s name taped to it and knocks. The door opens, and Steve starts to launch into what Danny has no doubt was meant to be a long speech, but Danny cuts him off. With a kiss.

Steve stumbles backwards as Danny leans into it, attacking with tongue and teeth and lips—everything he has, really. He manhandles Steve, fingers gripping his biceps so tightly that Danny thinks it probably hurts, but he doesn’t care. Steve, for his part, is pretty thoroughly disoriented. He doesn’t even fight back when Danny shoves him onto his dressing room table and steps between his thighs. He runs his fingers over the bare skin there, and Steve moans into his mouth. _Wow_ is all Danny can think. Then Steve’s hands are grabbing at Danny’s belt, and he’s pressing up with his body, and his kisses have turned sloppy and disoriented. Rockstar, slutty Steve is pretty fucking hot, Danny decides as Steve desperately claws at him, long past the ability to form words or logical thoughts. Danny thinks they should probably stop and talk about this, but then he realizes that Steve has been saying, _yes_ and _please_ for the last six years. So he goes for it.


	2. Backstage Confessional

Steve is breathless, wanton and wanting. It’s kind of a head rush for Danny as he crowds in and kisses him. Steve smells sweaty and sweet, and Danny breathes in the sticky scent greedily. Steve’s makeup is smeared on his left cheek, and his hair is sticking out in all directions. It takes Danny a minute to register that it’s because he mussed it up with his hands.

 _Danny, Danny, Danny,_ Steve is saying, and honestly, Danny just can’t believe how lucky he is. Steve is fucking _beautiful_ like this, wet and hard and clearly desperate for it. Danny manhandles him a little bit again, maneuvering so that he can get his fingers underneath Steve’s chin, feel the stubble there and press kisses to his throat. Steve moans, completely involuntarily—Danny would bet his next paycheck on that. But then Steve’s hands are scrabbling around his back, and there are blunt nails sinking into his white t-shirt. He can already feel where there will be little half-moon marks and bruises come tomorrow. He hoists Steve further up on the dressing table, and watches as the denim stretches too-tight across his thighs. Steve’s skin presses through the gashes in the pants, turning normally tanned skin white, and Danny can see every little hair and follicle even in the dim light. Hungrily, he grabs Steve’s chin and tilts his head, kissing him hard and rough on the mouth. He feels their teeth grind together as he presses his fingers against the bared skin of Steve’s upper thighs; this earns Danny another moan and Steve’s grabby hands spasm where they’re gently ringed around Danny’s neck.

Roughshod fingers slip and slide against skin as they kiss. Steve throws his head back and moans again when Danny presses up against him even more—he’s practically in Steve’s lap now, really. They’re hanging all over each other, completely intertwined, and Danny frees a hand to cup the back of Steve’s head, so he won’t bang it against the mirror behind him again. Steve mumbles his thanks through the kiss, and Danny smiles. “You got it, babe,” he says, and grins even harder when Steve’s hips buck up to meet his. “Easy there, babe, slow down, we’ve got all night…” Danny moves to step back, just to tease him, but Steve’s hands are clutching tight. “No, no,” he insists, his voice sounding almost panicked. “Want it, want it right now. _Please_ , Danny.” He repeats the plaintive, and his voice breaks a little on the second syllable. Danny’s heart and what’s left of his rational brain shatter simultaneously. Grabbing Steve, he hauls him off the table, spins around, and all but throws him against the dressing room door.

His back lands against it with a resounding thud, and Steve looks dazed, wanting, and imminently fuckable. The smudged eyeliner makes his eyes look dark and desirous. The rips in his jeans and the boots and the sex-hair and the nail polish and the—ah, God, it’s just everything, isn’t it, Danny thinks. The man is just pure sex. But even with all those elements of the visual in front of him, it’s his silent expression that gets Danny. His mouth is open, jaw a bit slack, and the look in Steve’s eyes is unmistakable. Danny decides he’s going to have some fun with it. He looks at Steve, who despite extensive drown-proofing training looks very much like he is floundering in a deep dark sea right now, and points to the ground in front of him. “Down,” he says, in a cool, clear voice.

And Steve drops to his knees right there on the dirty floor.

 _Damn,_ Danny doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so hot in his entire life. Never. He has to shake himself a little; he knows he’s staring and that the silence has gone on a little too long, but he just…Lt. Commander Steven J. McGarrett is currently _on the floor_ of a _dirty club,_ on his _knees_ , eagerly awaiting Danny’s next command. Oh, he’s trying not to show it, to seem aloof and hold onto what Steve probably thinks is his last shred of dignity through maintaining a façade of control, but Danny won’t have that. No, he’s going to take Steve _apart_ tonight. Everything Steve ever did to him, Danny’s going to make him pay for it, in the _best_ way possible. He grins. “Steven,” he says sharply, and Steve’s head snaps up.

Danny actually has to take a physical step back. Steve’s pupils are blown so wide that his eyes look almost black. There is naked desire written across every inch of his face. His mouth looks wet and bruised from the kisses, and the collar of his v-neck is torn a little where Danny yanked it down to get at a nipple earlier. He is the _epitome_ of sex. Hedonism personified. He’s absolutely gorgeous. “Oh, Steven,” Danny coos—he can’t help it. “I’m going to take _such_ good care of you.” Steve grins so wide that Danny thinks his heart might break or he might come on the spot, or both. He compensates with one perfectly delivered word: “ _Suck.”_

Steve all but dives forward, unzipping Danny with his teeth—good Lord above, _he actually used his teeth—_ undoing his belt buckle with lightening speed and getting Danny out and proud. He sits back on his haunches for a minute, just staring at it, and Danny feels himself flush. He’s got nothing to feel awkward about, but God, he’s dripping for it, and Steve is looking at him like he’s hungry for a taste. He leans in. Just before his mouth closes over the tip, Steve mumbles three little words. “I love you…”

It’s so quiet it’s almost silent, the words spoken under his breath, as if he wasn’t sure Danny would want to hear. Well, Danny thinks, this will not do. At all.

“Steven,” he barks in that voice Steve seems to like so much. Steve’s whole body jerks as he comes to attention; the rigid posture is so out of place on the floor, but Danny isn’t laughing—at all. Steve’s responsiveness is driving him wild; he’s already the hottest partner Danny’s ever had, and they haven’t actually done anything more than kiss. He tells him as much, and watches as a blazing red blush spreads all across Steve’s skin. It figures that the insane Steven J. McGarrett brand of laser-focus and lighting-fast reactions would apply in the, er, bedroom, too. Danny suddenly has the urge to take Steve on a big airy bed of white linens, bathed in sunshine and sea salt and tangy sweat. But there will be plenty of that. Steve needs to know how he feels, right _now,_ and this will have to do.

“Steven, listen to me,” he says, and Steve obeys—of course he does. Danny wants to grab himself to calm down, but Steve’s face is _right there_ and he doesn’t want any distractions. Steve is apparently extremely suggestible in this state.

“Steven J. McGarrett, I _love_ you.” Danny says the words plain, calm, but injects his gaze with all of the passion and emotion behind the phrase. He makes sure Steve sees all of it, everything, all of the pain and the pining and the love. Steve rocks back on his heels.

“Wow,” he says. He sounds more like himself—his non-sexual self, that is. So Danny is pretty confident that he got his feelings across. But Steve is still looking awed.

“ _Really?_ ” he asks, as if he just can’t quite believe it.

“Yes, Steven,” Danny says quietly. “Six years.” He lets the last vestiges of his own barriers drop, lets Steve see everything—how much not being together has hurt him, how deeply he _cares_. Steve is looking like a mortar shell hit him. Danny can _see_ him coming apart. Awkwardly, he tucks himself back into his khakis and gets down on his knees in front of Steve. “Always,” he says quietly. And Steve breaks.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating and exactly like his life has been with Steve since the moment they met. Steve is _crying._ Actually, honest-to-God crying. _Jesus,_ Danny thinks, and he doesn’t necessarily mean it in the flippant sense. This is some sort of holy moment he’s witnessing, and he’s well aware of it: Steven J. McGarrett, all defenses down. _Jesus,_ he thinks again, and then realizes that he’s tearing up a little, too. He gets his arms around Steve, holds him in a bear hug until he stops crying so hard. He can feel Steve’s entire body shaking minutely. “Steve. Steven.” Danny says. “You okay?” When Steve looks up at him, Danny’s whole world shifts. The love, the longing, the vulnerability in Steve’s eyes…Danny knows right then and there that tomorrow, he’s going out to get a ring. This is commitment. He’s in. Always has been, right from the start. “Me too, Steven,” he says quietly, and Steve’s watery, genuine smile is the most beautiful thing Danny has ever—ever—had the privilege to see. 


	3. Chapter 3

They sit like that for a few more minutes until Steve shifts, wincing a little uncomfortably. Danny immediately sees what the problem is. Steve is hard. Still. He’s pretty sure Steve was a bit hard on stage, too (of course—of _course—_ his attention whore of a partner would be, Danny thinks ruefully). The poor guy clearly needs some relief. But he’s still too in shock to ask for it. Lucky for him, Danny Williams speaks Steve. Is a master at it, in fact; the only human being in the world who can understand mumbles, decode eyebrow quirks, and tease out the meaning behind taciturn sullenness. And right now, Steve is saying that he wants to finish what they started.

Danny scoots forward. Slowly, he leans in until his lips are touching Steve’s. Gentle at first, barely any pressure at all. The he pulls away, traces his fingertips along the grooves of Steve’s tight jeans, and waits. He waits until he sees the light in Steve’s eyes change, that shift from nervous and bewildered to hungry and desperate. And with Steve, Danny suspects, there should be a little something…more. He hardens his own gaze, then grabs Steve roughly by the chin and jerks his face up so Steve can see the steely glint and hard lines of Danny’s expression. He holds eye contact mercilessly; he can do this all night, but by God he’s going to wait until he sees it. He returns to playing with Steve’s ripped jeans, fingertips skirting around the edges of exposed flesh, and then suddenly, without any warning at all, Danny digs his nails in, deep, rough, and hard enough to bruise.

_And there it is._

Steve’s eyes seem to fade as his focus slips to somewhere inside himself, somewhere primal and intimate and very, very sexy – or at least that’s what Danny thinks. And he _is_ always right, after all: Steve is submissive, and Steve is sexy, and the combination is almost devastatingly alluring. Danny can literally feel his mouth watering as the light slips out of Steve’s eyes, to be replaced by a fuzzy, floating quality that Danny can’t quite describe. Steve looks drunk, stoned, utterly out of it. When Danny gets up on his knees, which allows him to tower over Steve, who is currently slumped against the door, Steve visibly shrinks. He swallows hard, and Danny doesn’t miss the way Steve’s fingers convulse against the rough fabric of his jeans, or the way he angles his hips up, just a little, the movement infinitesimal and clearly involuntary. Danny strokes his right hand along the side of Steve’s face, and Steve’s eyes go wide with a sort of panic. He starts to bite his lip – hard. But Danny knows Steve, loves Steve, is going to take _such_ good care of him. When Danny lifts his hand away, he lets it hover just a few centimeters from that chiseled jawline, makes sure Steve can still feel the heat of him. And then Danny…waits.

He stays like that, like a coiled snake. He can feel all the power in the room flowing through him, warming his fingertips as they just barely graze Steve’s face, then disappear again. Steve shifts suddenly, his boot slipping on the floor, and there’s a pained, desperate look in his eyes that Danny has never seen before. He’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and his chest is heaving up and down, rapidly, and he struggles to breathe normally. Finally, Danny takes his hand all the way away, out of Steve’s vision completely, and then brings it down fast and hard, slapping Steve across the cheek.

That does it. The noise Steve makes is barely even human, not so much a scream as some sort of sonic primal release. He’s lost it now, all his self control has abandoned him, and Steve looks like he’s about to die if he doesn’t get some friction. He doesn’t say anything coherent, just keeps mumbling and groaning and Danny is _floored._ He’d known it would get a reaction, but he hadn’t figured it would be so…much.

Danny has been teasing Steve for years about his unholy love for explosives, but now, Danny thinks, he can see it clearly. Steve _is_ the explosive. Steve is Element X, Y, and Z all wrapped up together. The man was so tightly wound that Danny is amazed Steve didn’t just spontaneously combust one day. Danny is still up on his knees, looking down at Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett, absolutely destroyed _._ It’s the hottest thing Danny has ever seen. Steve is utterly _wrecked._ He’s whining in this odd, high-pitched key, gasping for breath as if there isn’t enough oxygen in the room, and shifting around like he can’t control his body. Suddenly, Danny realizes, that is exactly it. Steve has literally lost all control of himself. For a split second Danny worries Steve might, like, pee or something. It seems possible. He looks so out of it, completely unable to direct anything, even his own physicality. He’s just sprawled there, miserable and desperate, scrabbling around on the floor and lifting his hips and there are pricks of tears in the corners of his eyes, which are blown so wide and dark that Danny can almost see his own reflection in them.

God, Steve didn’t just want this. He _needed_ this. Danny makes a mental note to talk to Steve about self-care and the importance of taking care of needs like these, because, wow, this is just ridiculous, how desperate and wanton Steve is.

Just then Steve gasps, gets out something that sounds kind of like Danny’s name, and a plea. And Danny figures he’s held out long enough to give Steve what he needs for this first part. Time to get rough. Danny stands up, drags Steve to his knees, and proceeds to slap him a couple more times, fighting the instinct to pull his punches. Steve needs this, and Danny loves Steve, and he’ll be safe and sane for the both of them, and make sure that Steve enjoys this.

He goes down the list – he twists Steve’s nipples, scratches at his biceps, pulls his hair, and marks up Steve’s abs with long, strong sucks of his mouth. By the time he gets to the jeans, Steve is lying supine on the floor, twitching like a bug and openly crying. The front of his jeans are literally soaked, and Danny can’t stop himself from leaning down and tasting. Steve bucks up so hard and fast that he almost breaks Danny’s nose with his belt buckle. He doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy pawing at Danny with unsteady hands, trying to get something to hold onto, because his entire body is shaking like a leaf. Actually, Danny thinks, more than anything it looks like Steve is going through some kind of really intense drug withdrawal. The smell of sweat and desperation is cloying, but only just. Kind of like weed, Danny thinks – pleasant and unpleasant at the same time, thick and off-putting, but also somehow alluring. Steve sobs a couple of times, then returns to his litany of sounds that seem to be his approximation of begging.

Danny decides that enough is enough. He gets his hands on Steve’s belt and zipper, yanking the dampened denim down just enough to get Steve’s cock out. Settling himself against the dressing room door, he drags Steve in front of him, lets the guy slump against his chest as he reaches around to grab hold. Steve screams the second Danny touches him. It’s so much louder than anything else he’s let slip, and Danny feels a moment of panic that people are going to come running, thinking it’s some kind of emergency. So he lifts his other hand and covers Steve’s mouth. Steve bucks and stutters and comes so spectacularly that he actually blacks out.

Danny lowers him carefully to the ground and gives him gentle kisses and muscle rubs until he comes around. Steve blinks once, twice, and then his big brown eyes are looking at Danny, grateful and amazed and very, very embarrassed. Danny shakes his head.

“Uh-uh, none of that,” he says. “You were _amazing_ , Steven. Absolutely beautiful. I can’t—” He tries again. “I’m gonna sound like Gracie,” he laughs, “but really, _I can’t even_ —” he intones.

Steve cracks a smile at that, tries to speak but can’t really get anything out. Danny saves him, easily supplying the words he knows Steve was thinking.

“I know, I know,” he says, tone deliberately wry as he waves one hand around, “You’ve got me, the great Danny Williams, speechless.” Suddenly, he turns serious.

“Speechless,” he whispers again. “Really, Steven, that was…wow.” And he looks at Steve with everything plain as day in his eyes, and Steve smiles, wide and goofy and proud.

“I love you,” he says.

Danny squeezes his hand.

“I love you, too, you animal.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes before Danny straightens and says, “Well, we better get you cleaned up. And me, too, I guess,” gesturing at the telltale stain on the front of his own pants.

“ _Fuck_.” He fake-grimaces, and Steve laughs, light and easy and utterly relaxed, and Danny thinks he has never heard anything so perfect in his life – well, except maybe the first time he heard Grace’s life-affirming cry. But this is a damn close second.


End file.
